


Bloom

by LadyGaGalion



Series: Tales of Rebellion [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Community: hobbit_kink, Father/Son Incest, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:34:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGaGalion/pseuds/LadyGaGalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stuffy family tradition brings out Legolas's rebellious streak. Thranduil disciplines him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following anon [Hobbit Kink](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/) prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _To be portrayed is a family tradition, yet Legolas refuses because he considers this to be a stuffy tradition. Thranduil insists and Legolas finaly agrees... But he decides to give a new impulse to this old tradition. When the moment to pose arrives, he is so provocative that his father is aroused and decides to postpone the painting to fuck his son and then he punishes him for his inappropriate behaviour with a good and old-fashioned spanking._

 

  
_I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees._

-Pablo Naruda, "Every Day You Play"

 

 

They'd been waiting for nearly half an hour.

Thranduil was keenly aware of Nídhon's shifting and bored sighs, despite the artist's attempts to be inconspicuous behind his easel in the corner of the royal garden. It was ill-mannered behaviour, but not entirely unjustified. If Legolas didn't arrive soon, they would have to reschedule. Both their time will have been wasted.

It was unlike Legolas to be late. His punctuality was something Thranduil usually took for granted. But now that Thranduil thought about it, he realised he should have expected something like this. Legolas had been appalled at the idea of having his portrait done like his father and grandfather before him, but Thranduil had insisted. Clearly, despite having lost the battle of wills, Legolas wasn't finished expressing his distaste for the tradition.

"There must have been an urgent matter requiring the prince's attention," Thranduil said, feeling the need to break the silence. "If he does not arrive…" He trailed off, picking up the sound of someone entering the garden, and turned his head. His breath caught at the sight of his son as he came strolling down the stone path.

Legolas was wearing robes the colour of ripe cherries. It was a choice Thranduil would never have expected – Legolas usually opted for formal wear in lighter shades – but it suited him well. The rich red fabric provided a striking contrast to his alabaster skin and golden hair.

"Please excuse my tardiness," Legolas said as he joined them. "I was in the bath, and I… Well, I lost track of time."

Thranduil schooled his features into a scowl. "Legolas, this is Nídhon, the artist who portrayed me many centuries ago, and your grandfather before that."

Legolas inclined his head and offered an uncharacteristically broad smile. His lips appeared the slightest bit moist, as if he'd applied some sort of balm. "Mae govannen, Nídhon."

Nídhon was so captivated by the sight of his prince that he seemed to have lost his tongue, but at last he bowed and said, "Mae govannen, Prince Legolas. I am honoured to be of service."

Legolas smirked. Sparkling blue eyes looked past Thranduil, who stood beside him, and bore into Nídhon's. "Where do you want me?"

It wasn't the artist's decision to make.

"Over there," Thranduil said, nodding at the blooming wild cherry. It was a beautiful, twisted tree, so densely populated with white flowers that one could barely glimpse its branches.

"Very well," said Legolas.

Thranduil watched with rising suspicion as Legolas leisurely made his way towards the tree, his right hand gripping the knobbed end of an intricately carved length of wood. "Since when do you own a walking stick?"

"I commissioned it specifically for this…momentous occasion," Legolas said, turning to face them when he reached his destination. He extended his left leg to show off over-the-knee black boots worn over tight, grey breeches. "These are new as well. Do you like them, Nídhon?"

Nídhon's jaw dropped, likely due not as much to the boots as to the fact that Legolas' robes had fallen open, revealing a few inches of pale skin over the waistband of his breeches. He wasn't wearing a tunic underneath.

Thranduil's blood began to simmer. This was beyond anything he'd expected.

"They are exquisite, my prince," Nídhon replied appreciatively. Then, catching himself, he cleared his throat and cast a nervous glance at Thranduil.

Legolas smiled. "I am glad you think so. A good subject ought to inspire the artist. Do you not agree?"

Nídhon swallowed audibly as Legolas released the top clasp of his robes. Slender fingers dipped under the edges of the collar and pushed it apart, offering a tantalising view of his chest, right down to the sternum. His skin gleamed like polished ivory in the sunlight.

"How is this?" Legolas asked. He rubbed the knob of the walking stick suggestively with his thumb whilst his free hand trailed down the front of his robes. His eyes followed its path as it moved to his exposed belly. He drew his lower lip in between his teeth as the hand dipped beneath the waistband of his breeches, and looked up expectantly.

Blushing, Nídhon dropped his gaze. His voice came out strained. "I – fear I may be a bit too inspired to paint, my lord."

Thranduil's eyes locked on the spectacle before him. He spoke in a low, even tone. "I apologise for my son's behaviour, Nídhon. We will have to meet again at a later date, after I have had a talk with him. You may go."

There was a fair deal of shuffling about as Nídhon quickly gathered his supplies and headed for the rose-covered archway. Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil saw that he carried his artist's satchel securely over his crotch. It didn't surprise him; Legolas' performance would have aroused anyone. It had certainly aroused Thranduil, though his robes were thick and heavy enough to hide the evidence.

He waited until Nídhon was out of sight. Then, holding Legolas' gaze, he said in a low voice, "Continue."

Legolas didn't look as confident as before. He hesitated for a moment, teeth now gnawing on his lip. They'd been down this path before, years ago. At a summertime feast, under the starlight, perhaps under the influence of too much wine, Legolas had offered to be of service to his king. And Thranduil, out of a sense of moral responsibility, had rejected him. He would not make the same mistake again.

Legolas tossed aside his walking stick. His hands moved to the remaining clasps of his robe. The nimble fingers worked slowly, pausing between each set so that Thranduil's desire spiked each time a new patch of skin was revealed. Once all the clasps were open, Legolas removed his robes. He dropped them onto grass beside him, where they landed in a shimmery red heap. Without warning, he dipped his hand fully inside his breeches. A gasp escaped his lips as he grasped his erection and gave it a tug.

Thranduil stalked towards him, closing the distance between them. He came up behind Legolas, so close that their bodies touched, but just barely. He watched over Legolas' shoulder as he languidly stroked himself within the tight confines of his breeches.

"Is this what you did in the bath?" he asked, surreptitiously taking off his rings to drop them into his pocket.

"Aye."

A cool breeze stirred, making Legolas' nipples harden. Thranduil pinched one of them, earning a hiss whilst he grabbed a handful Legolas' hair and pulled his head back against his shoulder. "It was discourteous of you to keep us waiting."

He removed Legolas' hand from his breeches and untied them with a few rough tugs on the laces.

"I am sorry, Adar."

Thranduil snorted. "Forgive me if I question the sincerity of your apology."

Legolas gasped, lips parting as Thranduil wrapped his fingers around his cock. He was definitely wearing balm, and it made his mouth all the more tempting. Thranduil tilted Legolas' head towards him and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. The balm was a fennel-flavoured one. A tasteful choice, he thought—more unexpected and masculine than rose or violet. Not that he would have minded either of the others.

Thranduil sucked on the lip for a few more seconds, enjoying the way Legolas writhed against him, before delving inside his mouth. A fuzzy warmth spread through his belly as their tongues slid together. He kissed Legolas slowly, gently—in sharp contrast to the roughness with which he stroked his cock.

Almost immediately, Legolas began to moan and thrust into his hand. Thranduil held him still by the hip as he pressed his erection firmly into Legolas' backside. It felt incredible; the friction caused by Legolas' bucking sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him. He stroked faster and faster, maintaining the languid motions of his tongue, until Legolas gasped against his mouth and went rigid.

The come spilled onto Thranduil's hand in hot spurts, covering the backs of his fingers. He milked Legolas' cock until nothing more would come out. Then he stepped back. "Drop your breeches and get on your fours."

Legolas was quick to obey. He left his boots on and lowered his breeches enough to offer Thranduil access to his arse. Thranduil's cock twitched at the sight of it.

But when Legolas dropped to his knees, he did it facing him. "Let me suck you, first," he said.

Thranduil had meant to use Legolas' semen to prepare him, but he took one look at his pink lips and toned body—naked down to the knees—and couldn't resist.  
He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hand clean before unclasping his own robe and tossing it, along with his tunic, to the ground on top of Legolas'. His breeches were tented obscenely.

"Go ahead."

Legolas reached out and slid his hands up and down Thranduil's thighs. The touch was strong enough to offer a light massage, and unexpectedly arousing. Thranduil was already painfully hard. He grabbed one of Legolas' wrists and brought his hand up to the laces of his breeches. "You have already made me wait enough for one day."

His words had the intended effect. Within seconds his cock was freed, exposed to the cool spring air for only a moment before being engulfed in the heat of Legolas' mouth. Thranduil began thrust, eager to feel more of that wetness along his length – and however far he pushed Legolas took it all in. Soon Thranduil was buried to the root, his cock hitting the back of Legolas' throat. It felt incredible. Too good, in fact, considering that he still planned on fucking Legolas into the ground before they were through. Thranduil feared he might not last long enough to do so. He promised himself he'd indulge his son for only a few minutes before proceeding with the original plan.

But a skilled mouth can accomplish a lot in a few minutes. Thranduil lost control when he began to feel the familiar tingle spread from his core. His fingers tightened in Legolas' hair, dislodging strands from his braid, as he fervently sought his release between those lips. At the last moment, he remembered and tried to pull out, but Legolas held his arse firmly, fingers digging into his buttocks, whilst he sucked in earnest.

Thranduil came hard. He let out a strangled moan just as Legolas released his cock with a _pop_. Seed spurted everywhere: on Legolas' face, on his chest, on his hair… even into his lap, for he had sat back on his heels, looking pleased with himself.

Legolas was hard again, his pink cock jutting out from between come-spattered thighs. "Did you like that, Ada? Do you accept my apology now?"

Thranduil was as livid as one could be in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. "Get on your fours," he said.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at his softening cock, as if wondering what he planned on doing with it, but assumed the position without complaint. His arse was whiter than the lilies in the garden; by the time Thranduil was finished with him, it would be redder than the roses. He had never spanked Legolas before, but it was never too late to start—not with one so misbehaved.

"You will count out loud," Thranduil said, dropping to his knees on the grass.

"What are you—?" Before Legolas realised what was happening, the first smack landed on his right buttock.

 _Crack_.

Legolas' breath hitched. "Ada, no! This is embarrassing."

"Good," Thranduil replied. "Maybe you will think twice before making a fool of yourself again. How many was that?"

Legolas gave a resigned sigh.

"One."

Thranduil raised his arm and brought his hand down again, this time on the other buttock.

 _Crack_.

"… Two."

Legolas sounded mortified through the first few rounds, but by number seven his breathing started to grow ragged. Round, pink patches were beginning to bloom on the ivory skin of his arse. Thranduil struck harder, watching in fascination as the colour deepened.

 _Crack_.

"Fourteen."

Thranduil looked down between Legolas' thighs to see how his cock bounced lewdly with each slap. It looked darker and more swollen than before. The sight of it aroused him beyond measure. His own dick began to stir again.

 _Crack_.

"Twenty."

At twenty-three, Legolas moaned—a breathy, ecstatic sound that made Thranduil want to mount him right then and there. But he had planned on delivering at least thirty slaps. That meant he had ten more to go.

"Ada, please..."

"Yes, ion nín?"

 _Crack_.

Legolas' head dropped forward, and he drew in a shaky breath. The marks on his buttocks were now a deep red. Thranduil soothed one of them with a gentle caress.

"What number was that?"

"Fuck me."

"I asked, 'What number?'" Thranduil hissed.

"I want to feel your cock in—"

 _Crack_.

"Twenty-seven!"

Thranduil's hand stung. His cock ached. Three more smacks seemed like more than he could endure. He dug his fingers into the abused globes, pulling them apart, and blew lightly on the puckered entrance. Legolas shivered.

Thranduil kneaded one of the arse cheeks and dipped forward until the pointed tip of his tongue flicked at velvety, wrinkled skin. Legolas gasped at the unexpected contact and tried to push back on his face. Thranduil held him still and lapped at his entrance for a while before gently nudging it open. Then he pulled back again.

 _Crack_.

Legolas dropped his head onto his forearm. A breathy, euphoric moan tore through his throat. " _Valar_ …"

"What did you say?"

"Twenty-eight."

Roughly parting Legolas' buttocks once more, Thranduil flexed his tongue and pushed inside. His eyes rolled back as he imagined burying his cock in that tight heat. He wiggled his tongue inside the tight channel, enjoying how it made Legolas quiver and mewl.

At twenty-nine smacks, Thranduil sucked two fingers into his mouth. When they were wet enough, he pressed them against Legolas' entrance and pushed inside. His cock twitched in anticipation.

"Ada, yes!" Legolas pushed back onto the digits as Thranduil began to work him open.

Thranduil was neither patient nor gentle; he didn't need to be. They'd both wanted this for a long time, and Legolas was no innocent. Thranduil fucked him hard with his fingers and scraped the reddened skin of his arse with his teeth before giving it a rough nip. Finally, he pulled out and brought his hand down on Legolas' backside one last time, hard enough to make sure it stung.

 _Crack_.

"Thirty! Ada, I beg you—" Legolas stopped when Thranduil lined himself up with his entrance and thrust forward, sliding into him with ease.

It was even better than Thranduil had anticipated. Legolas' passage was hotter, tighter, and smoother, and his strangled moans sweeter than he had imagined. He gave that pert arse another light slap as he began to roll his hips.

Legolas looked back over his shoulder. "Am I to keep counting?"

"Hush," Thranduil said. He thrust forward sharply and felt a wave of bliss wash over him.

The birds sang gaily above them as they fucked on the grass, surrounded by fallen flower petals. Legolas' regrettable behaviour aside, their first union could not have been arranged more beautifully. Thranduil felt his heart swell with love for his son as he sought to bring him maximum pleasure. He raised himself onto the balls of his feet, flattening along Legolas' back, and drove into him hard from above.

"Gi melin," he whispered and nipped the tip Legolas' ear. He received a quick, sloppy kiss in return.

"I love you, too."

Holding himself up on one hand, Thranduil used the other to grasp Legolas' cock. Warm fingers immediately covered his own, guiding him. It didn't take much. Within a few dozen strokes, Legolas' cock jerked in his grip. Legolas dropped his head to the ground as he spilled himself onto the grass. Thranduil continued to fuck into him as he lay there, panting, until a surge of heat rose from his thighs and he came as well. At the peak of his climax, he bit into Legolas' shoulder with a keening cry.

Thranduil took a few breaths to steady himself before he pulled out and lay down beside Legolas. The latter turned lazily to him, smiling. He was the very picture of debauchery. His face was flushed, his lips were swollen, and his hair was a tangled mess—a few strands of it crusty with dried seed from Thranduil's earlier release. Yet he had never looked more beautiful.

"You are an excellent lover, Ada." Legolas took Thranduil's hand and laced their fingers together. Soft, pink lips kissed each of his fingertips. "When will you take me again?"

 _As soon as I've recovered_ , Thranduil wanted to say or, at the very least, _tonight._ Instead, he replied, "When your portrait is finished."

"Hmm," Legolas mused.

"I mean it," Thranduil said between his teeth, giving Legolas' hand a menacing squeeze.

"All right. I will behave."

"Good." Thranduil picked a cherry blossom out of Legolas hair and gave him a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. "And Legolas?"

"Yes, Ada?"

"You looked stunning today."

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Sindarin translations: 
> 
> Mae govannen – well met
> 
> Adar/ada – father/dad
> 
> Ion nín – my son
> 
> Gi melin – I love you


End file.
